


The Arrangement

by thecountessolivia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Hannibal is in prison, Intimacy, M/M, for a very good reason, hypothetical season 5, they're both happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: After the fall, after the unravelling in Cuba, Will's happiness finally takes its form in unexpected circumstances.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 60
Kudos: 172





	1. The Ballroom

Will was the last to arrive. He pulled up a chair behind the phalanx of his lawyers and carefully set the thermal bag down beside him. 

Sat opposite the lawyers were two men Will recognised as agents from the Seattle bureau. They looked uneasy. Most people looked uneasy when put in a room with Will Graham. Even if they didn't know a thing about him, which was rare these days, the scars and the expression did the trick. The two nervous men at the table knew Will's file through and through. 

With the agents was JD Barr, director of the Washington State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He looked even more tense than the others — but then he always did these days, having no doubt read all about Chilton and Alana. Will wondered how he slept at night, if he regretted putting himself forth to take charge of such an ungodly prize. 

They were all sitting around a conference table in Barr's office, a too-grand room set with pictures of sagacious men and women and with floor to ceiling windows that offered bucolic views of Willapa Bay.

The younger of the two agents attempted the first salvo. 

"The deal which Mr. Graham made with the court—" 

"—is ironclad," Lawyer Number One interjected with the confidence and finality Will expected from a man paid outrageous per-minute rates from undisclosed Swiss bank accounts. "We will not discuss any changes to the deal." 

"Considerable pressure is building at a federal level for a more... traditional incarceration," offered the agent on the left, the older of the two. "Dr. Barr is holding here one of the most notorious criminals of the century, a man who is beyond the hope of any psychiatric care. And given the history—"

Will snorted. It got him looks from across the table and a shushing pat on the arm from one of the lawyers.

"Dr. Barr's security arrangements are second to none," declared Lawyer Number Two. "Any pressure to move this patient or restrict his privileges is, I suspect, purely a matter of appearance."

"And expense," added the older agent. "The hospital has undergone a significant upgrade to support this deal." The man leaned over the table with a scowl, as if he could frown his way through the wall of legal suits separating him from Will. "We are considering an appeal to a higher court. However, it doesn't have to come to that. We're all here now, ready and willing to discuss changes." 

Will sighed and kicked the back of a chair holding one of the lawyers. "Ask them what this is really about. They wouldn't drag us all in here if they thought they didn't have leverage."

The agents looked between themselves, then to the hospital's director. Barr looked momentarily more skittish than before, then opened the laptop set in front of him and spun it around to show the rest of the group the picture on screen. 

"My head nurse," he said shakily. "He was removing the mask last week and— this. And it's only been three months."

Will wished he could see the reaction on his lawyers' faces to the savaged forearm of the unfortunate nurse. Even with the blood and the torn flesh, the bite mark was still obvious.

He did his best to suppress a smile, and succeeded. 

"Are we done here?" he asked. "I'm late for my visit." 

\---

"Mr. Graham! Mr. Graham, it's me— Agent Balding."

The younger of the two agents was trotting down the hallway after Will. Will didn't stop walking, but the man caught up with him.

"You shouldn't be in this part of the building. Also, don't say another word without my lawyers present," Will said without looking at the man. 

"I just wanted to—" Balding's hand landed on Will's shoulder, and that was enough to get Will to stop and level him with a glare. It wasn't poisoned enough to prove a deterrent. 

"I wanted to say," the agent persisted, "that if he's making you do this, there are people you can speak to. People who could help. I know it's what he asked for. But you don't have to keep coming here."

Will blinked at the man for a few moments, at the earnest and concerned expression he'd brought to that statement. "Have you ever tasted human flesh, Agent Balding?" he asked. 

The man went pale. "I— no. No, of course not."

"It's amazingly versatile. Adapts to whatever flavour profile you want to build around it."

Balding took a step back. He seemed to have run out of argument. 

Will lifted the thermal bag to show him. "Gotta go. Food's gonna get cold."

\---

Washington State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Formerly the Jebediah Wallace Sanatorium for Respiratory Health. A place where the wealthy once came to nurse their consumptive lungs. Built in an era of optimism, the palatial structure looked nothing like the sort of place where the hopeless came for last scraps of hope. Its formal gardens of rose shrubs and topiary spilled down to the edge of the water. Its now faded gilded ceilings and their cherubs had been borrowed from Versailles. It even had a ballroom. 

Will met Lewis, the orderly, at the ballroom's high security, bulletproof doors. 

"Afternoon, Mr. Graham."

"Afternoon, Lewis."

Lewis began entering codes and scanning access cards. Will watched him in silence, but in the end had to say something. 

"I was sorry to hear about your colleague's arm," he said, even if he didn't mean it. Then, after a moment, added. "Are you worried?"

Lewis looked at him with what Will read as equanimity. "Thank you, Mr. Graham. And no, I'm not worried at all." He pulled the door open and gestured inside. 

The door closed and locked behind Will. 

Murk greeted him, as it always did. The heavy curtains on the row of windows had been left drawn, and only a reading lamp in the center of the room illuminated the soaring interior. Will heard the slow advance of his footsteps on the faded parquet floor, a piano playing Strauss through the small speaker Will had ensured was written into the agreement. He could almost picture the ghostly pairs of sickly patients, in their fur baron finery, spinning slow and cautious waltzes about the plexiglass cell built in the middle of the dance floor. 

He set down the bag on the small table set out by Lewis next to the cell. He lifted a hand to touch the glass. 

"You came," said a voice as familiar as Will's inner one. 


	2. The lamb and the bay

"You always sound so surprised," Will said. 

The still silhouette sat by the reading lamp inside the cell didn't stir to reply. Will peeled his hand from the plexiglass and wandered over to the first of the soaring windows. 

"Why don’t they ever open the curtains for you? Do I need to have words?"

“I have asked Lewis to leave them closed on the days you are here.”

Will walked the thick velvet curtain back from the first window and watched a swarm of dust swirl up to the gilded ceiling. He squinted at the bright autumn sunshine until the view of the gardens and the water beyond cleared and came in through the metal bars striping the glass.

“Why's that?"

“Because I know you'll open them for me. And I want to ensure the first thing I see clearly in my day is you.”

Will felt the tug of scar tissue along his cheek. He waited for the smile to fade before he turned and walked back towards the cell. 

Hannibal rose and matched his stride, step for step, until they were face to face. Their foreheads pressed against the plexiglass. Will closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, heart settling as he listened to the familiar breath from the other side, just audible above his own and the music. 

"You are late," Hannibal murmured.

“I know. Sorry. Meeting. Lawyers, FBI. I cut it short." 

"Serious?”

Will sighed. "Can we eat first?"

"Of course."

“Tray, please."

Will settled at the small table set out beside its twin inside the cell. He started to unpack tupperware, thermos, plastic and paper place settings. Lewis had made sure the two tables were perfectly aligned. Both were the same shape and size. Only one was screwed to the floor. 

Hannibal slid the metal tray across and began clearing books and drawings from his table. From the corner of his eye, Will saw the minute flaring of his nostrils before the first tupperware lid even came off.

"Sumac. Mint."

Will nodded. "Not what you told me to make, but I liked the look of this recipe. Sumac lamb with minted artichokes. White wine and sesame sauce." He glanced up to catch the look of obvious pleasure and pride on Hannibal’s face. 

"I’m sure its excellent. You’ve been putting in a lot of effort."

"Passes the time, learning this stuff. I had to order the sumac online. The lamb is pretty local. Reared not 60 miles from here."

“And slaughtered too, I'm sure. Do you suppose its blood was drained into the Columbia, to join with the waters of our very own bay?”

Will had to turn for a moment to catch a glimpse of the water through the barred windows. He half-expected Hannibal's words to have dyed it crimson. 

He turned back to his task and used two plastic forks to carefully lift slices of lamb onto paper plates. For a moment, he pictured himself delivering something else as feed for the beast inside the elegant cage, something still bloody fresh and worthy of the privilege. He felt Hannibal’s gaze on him as he finished arranging their lunch.

He lowered the plate and utensils into the metal tray and slid them across. He set out the cups next, and unscrewed the thermos.

"This never stops being weird," he said, watching the Merlot stream into plastic.

“You can imagine my feelings about it."

“We got a lot in our bargain. I'm guessing cork screws and actual wine bottles and glasses would have been pushing it.”

Hannibal's upper lip curled up in a smirk, the briefest flash of canines. Will watched him for a moment, then set the cup of wine in the tray and slid it into the cell.

 _Your teeth are dangerous enough_ , he wanted to add. 

Hannibal lifted the cup and gave it a swirl from the wrist. Light glinted against the ruby liquid inside clear plastic. “The vessel may be inferior, but at least we can still take in the color of its contents. These local blends you've bringing me have been surprisingly good."

Will lifted his own cup. They touched the rims to the plexiglass. 

"Clink," Will said.

For a moment, they ate in silence. The dish had turned out well, but Will felt as if he were chewing on one of his own nagging thoughts. 

“Do you think there's something else we should have asked for?" he said. "In the deal, I mean."

Hannibal sawed through his lamb and used the plastic knife to dab it in sauce and sesame seeds. "What I wanted most could not be guaranteed by any legal document."

Will swallowed a mouthful of lamb and Merlot. He felt them settle uneasily in his stomach.   
  
"I can’t come more than once a week," he said quietly. "You know this." 

"Or less than once a week, it seems," Hannibal said with enough acid for Will to taste it in his next bite. 

Will blinked up at him.  
  
"You know why I didn't come last week."

Hannibal didn't answer, but continued dividing his lunch. Will watched him, the hard set of his jaw while he ate. When he understood, he wished he'd had metal in his hand instead of plastic, something he could stab into the table, or scrape against the plexiglass. 

"Fuck. They didn't tell you. They were supposed to—"

“Please finish your lunch, Will. Then we can discuss it.”

“I had an MRI. I couldn't reschedule it. They wouldn't let me come another day. Fuck!"

"We knew there would be misunderstandings like this. It was always a risk."

"That’s why you bit that nurse."

Slowly, Hannibal lifted the next forkful up to his mouth. "I should have done more than that," he said and bit into the lamb. Half of the rare flesh split away from the plastic tines. 

Will couldn't look away. He watched the rhythmic twist of Hannibal's jaw as he chewed. "You can’t say— you—"

"The cameras are off for the duration of your visit. That, too, was part of our little deal."

"I still don't trust them on that. What did he say to you? The nurse."

“He told me you weren’t coming back.”

Will pushed his fingers into one of the vents in the wall that divided them. So thin and clear that wall, only a few inches that hid nothing.

Hannibal dropped his fork and reached for him.

Their fingers twisted together. Will felt Hannibal’s touch, warm and dry, the only touch in the world he could tolerate. 

"We might have a problem," he said. 


	3. Room for manoeuvre

Hannibal's hand slipped from Will's grip. He got up and paced the cell. Will's fingers twitched after him through the vents. There were times he'd imagined cutting off his thumb and tossing it in after Hannibal. Or his whole hand. Throwing himself in where he belonged, one piece at a time. 

He downed the rest of his wine and watched Hannibal's aimless stride inside the small space he'd been granted, the poised way he carried his ordinary plastic cup. It filled Will with an anger he didn't want to give name to. 

"Let’s hear about your conference then," Hannibal said. "I assume my errant snack came up?"

Will sighed. He was on his feet now too, circling the cell and matching Hannibal step for step. 

"The lawyers pushed back on any changes for now. But the Seattle bureau guys won't give up so easily. Not after the nurse. The higher-ups will want modifications. They'll try to move you to a more conventional facility or take away your books or—" Will shook his head. He didn't want to say the worst of it, didn't dare to imagine it.

"Do you suppose the bureau has been hearing from our old friend on the East Coast?"

"Jack? Don't know. Maybe it’s just pressure from the media. Or someone coming down on Barr."

At the mention of the hospital director's name, Hannibal gave Will a look of dismissive amusement, one he reserved exclusively for the likes of Chilton. It almost bordered on pity. 

"Bottom line, most people don't approve.” Will waved an arm about the ballroom. “This grand setup doesn’t exactly look like justice served."

Hannibal paused his pacing to take a sip of his wine. Behind him, suspended on the transparent walls of the cell were pinned several new drawings: vibrant pastels of harbours, of rows of houses in lurid greens, yellows and blues. A brocade-walled and sun-streaked interior, a body on the bed. Will looked away, heart quickening. His recollections of Havana existed in his head like fragments of a shattered mirror reflecting fevered and blood-soaked dreams. Rationally he knew the dreams had been reality. Some version of him had moved through the scenes in Hannibal's pictures. But Will hadn't really been there. 

Hannibal stepped closer. His broad shoulders obscured the floating pastel dreamscapes. "You are loathe to see our present arrangement altered," he said. "Tell me, Will, does this grand setup as you call it help assuage some of the guilt you feel at putting me in here?" 

Will's fingers twitched at his side and closed into fists."You—" he hissed. He still didn't trust the cameras to be turned off, so he couldn't say what he really meant to say: _we agreed to do this together. You said it was the only way._

"Seeing you in here shouldn't be a struggle," he said instead.

"And yet." Hannibal moved even closer and so did Will, drawn in like the tide. No walls or prison bars could ever get in the way of that pull. Their hands pressed against the plexiglass, perfectly mirrored. 

"My darling boy," Hannibal murmured. "It still surprises you, doesn't it? That you should want to see me happy."

It did. It shocked Will to his core, every time he seared lamb for their weekly lunches or fussed over the wine selection; every time he drew back dusty curtains from ballroom windows so that Hannibal could read and draw by the light of day. 

His next words came through his teeth. "They'd debase you if they could. They'd take you from me."

"I won't allow it."

"We're out of leverage. And meanwhile you're nibbling nurses. Fucking— stop doing that, by the way."

Hannibal ignored him. "I won't allow it because I will not see them take _your_ happiness away from you.”

Will blinked up at him. A deep ache lit itself under his heart, an ancient soreness that never really settled.

"I didn’t think it could work, having you in here like this. Maybe I didn’t think I deserved it.”

"But now?”

“Now I have you. And you have me.”

“Yes.” 

“Things are...” Will struggled to find his next words. Stable. Settled. Calm and content. Hannibal where Will could always find him. Only now Will knew he needed and wanted to find him. 

"The MRI?" Hannibal asked gently. 

Will shook off a moment of reverie. His palm felt damp against the cell wall. “Just a precaution. I’ve been having some dizzy spells. Getting tired easily."

"No more blackouts?" The tone of Hannibal’s question was sharp, tense. 

"Not for months. Scans look good. I'm fine."

Hannibal gave a slow exhalation. It sounded like, and must have been, relief. 

Will slid against the wall of the cell down to the floor. He pressed his cheek to the plexiglass, closed his eyes and waited. He knew the next thing he'd feel would be Hannibal's fingers threading through the lowest vents to stroke his hair. 

“When your mind fractured after the Dragon,” Hannibal whispered, so low it sounded like Will’s inner voice, “I feared losing you in the most fundamental of ways.”

“And so you chose this instead,” Will said, barely hearing himself. 

“For you. For us.”

"You always wanted what's best for me.” Will leaned his head back and felt Hannibal’s fingers skim over the line of ragged tissue marking his forehead. “I've got scars to prove it."

Hannibal's touch skimmed down to his brow and cheek, warm, gentle and rhythmic. "My definition of what is best for you has evolved over the years. I... had struck some wrong notes along the way." 

Will breathed a laugh. "Understatement of the year." He opened his eyes just enough to look over the expanse of parquet floor, to the gardens and the bay beyond: the view the two of them shared, if only once a week. A blanket of clouds had gathered over the water, broken apart with bright fissures of sunshine.

"I wait all week for this," he said. "I start thinking about what to cook for you as soon as I leave here. I thought—" He hesitated for a moment, but Hannibal's soft touch coaxed his tongue. "Can you see that town across the bay, to the East?"

"Mm. Whistler, isn't it? Sometimes I can see its lights. Boats peeling away from its shores.”

"I thought about giving up the rental and buying a house there."

Hannibal's fingers stilled against Will's skin. Will listened to the seesaw of their two breaths. He didn't need to say it. They could both imagine it: days and nights apart, but with eyes and souls fixed on each other from across the water. 

Slowly, he got up and slipped from Hannibal’s touch. He walked back to the table and reached into his bag. 

"Got your book for this week." He opened the leather-bound volume and breathed in the pleasant scent of old paper before sliding it into Hannibal’s tray. "Aeschylus? 'Prometheus Bound'? Wonder what gift it is you think you gave humanity." 

Hannibal's eyes narrowed minutely in mirth. He retrieved the book and leafed through it, smelled it the way Will had. “You assume I see myself as the imprisoned god rather than the eagle."

Will couldn't help a laugh. “Liver for dinner every night? You’d get sick of it. And who would you cast me as?”

"Certainly not Hephaestus. He pitied Prometheus but ultimately abandoned him to his fate." Hannibal peered up from the pages of his book. "You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

There was a subtle dip in his voice, the faintest note of longing that swelled the ache beneath Will’s heart. He couldn’t quite say it: _not this time, never again._ It felt like too big of a promise now that their arrangement had been threatened. 

“Did you eat what you took from that nurses arm?" he asked suddenly, despite himself. 

Hannibal licked his fingertip and used it to turn a stubborn page. "They pried the meat from my mouth before I could chew and swallow. I did enjoy the taste of his blood."

Will shivered, and it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. He stared down at the remnants of his lunch, the thinned bloody puddle left behind after the spring lamb. To distract himself, he began to pack leftovers into tupperware. 

“Will?”

“Yeah.”

“You needn’t worry about Barr or the bureau. We have some room for manoeuvre.”

Will frowned and looked up. Hannibal had settled down on his cot, legs stretched out and book in his lap. He looked supremely content. "The FBI have been to see me," he said.

Will nearly dropped the plastic cutlery. He stared into the cell. 

"What? When? What did they want? They’re meant to tell me–“

Hannibal raised a single finger in a gesture of appeasement. 

"I’ve been asked to assist on a case."

Will was up on his feet again, fists pressed against the plexiglass. He could see his breath steaming the cell wall. “Case, what case.”

“You may have heard about those country girls being skinned in the Midwest?"

Will jerked his head in a nod. 

"The bureau is at a loss. They've asked for a profile which you're of course welcome to help with. If I'm a good boy I'm sure we could easily offset several nurse arms." 

"Who are you dealing with? Do I know them?"

Hannibal gave the faintest of shrugs. "I doubt it. Some wide-eyed thing directly from the Academy. A mere trainee." 


End file.
